


Face to Face With the Devil

by DeskGirl



Series: RotG Undercover Noir AU [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Noir, Body Horror, Gen, Gore, Serial Killer, Undercover AU, Violence, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeskGirl/pseuds/DeskGirl
Summary: Kozmotis meets the devil, and this blue-eyed, fallen angel has a deal he can’t refuse.Undercover Noir AU: Kozmotis is an undercover DEA agent, infiltrating the Man in the Moon’s network of crime. The various organizations are headed by Sandman, Toothiana, North, and Bunnymund. As Kozmotis poses as Pitch Black in an attempt to stop MiM and his spread of the dangerous drug, Dream Dust, his only help comes in the form of a genius serial killer known as Jack Frost. Credit for the AU goes toKS_Claw





	Face to Face With the Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KS_Claw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KS_Claw/gifts).



> It's been a long time since I originally wrote this. This stand alone drabble was a prompt fill request for my friend KS_Claw. The request had gone unfulfilled, so I took up the challenge.

     When he got the call, Kozmotis was pretty sure the jig was up. Mund had never trusted him; he never really trusted anyone, though, to be fair. He’d been stabbed in the back—and the face—a few too many times to let anyone walk in and make themselves at home the way “Pitch” had. He’d hoped that Bunnymund had decided to overlook him since the Sandman took him into his confidence, but he couldn’t think of a good reason they’d need him to do a job down at South Pier. That was outside Sandy’s territory. The call was a job from Sandy, but he knew deep down that Bunnymund had a hand in it.

     “Mr. Sandman needs you down at South Pier at twelve-thirty tonight. Building A6. Some customers of ours aren’t happy with their product, and want a refund. You’re being wired the money now. Get in, trade for the Dust, and get back out.” The secretary’s voice was soft, making it hard to identify, but Pitch was pretty sure this was a new one. The last secretary had been an androgynous young man—Sandy liked them tall and elegant—who barely spoke above a whisper. This voice had a slightly higher register. Kozmotis could only guess what had happened to the other secretary.

     “Mr. Black?”

     “Yes, I heard. I’ll head over now.”

     “I’ll let Mr. Sandman know.”

     Kozmotis set the phone back down on the receiver before letting out a harsh breath through his nose. He was being sent in alone outside his superior’s territory in the middle of the night to deal with angry, armed men who dealt in illegal goods. Sandman could have at least had the decency to call him in and kill Kozmotis himself. 

     The only thing he could do was try to survive this. He went to change, slipping on a shoulder holster before donning his trademark black trench coat. His T1-Nightmare was loaded with a full magazine before he holstered it. He pocketed a couple spare magazines and a switchblade before heading out. No phone: he either came back or he didn’t. That’s how the MiM’s men liked to run things. It was no wonder they had come out on top in the criminal world, culling off any weaklings in their individual organizations until only the best—and worst—remained in the ranks. Law enforcement had no idea what lurked on their streets at night.

     Pitch parked his car two streets down—close enough he could reach it in an emergency but far enough away that it couldn’t tip off any cops. He hoofed it the rest of the way, staying out of the light of the street lamps and keeping a watchful eye out for any men posted around the South Pier possibly waiting for him. After all, a smart man didn’t send all his pieces to the middle of the board. He was thankful to find the streets empty all the way down to packing building A6. Now to try and work out a deal with these customers without getting riddled with holes.

     Kozmotis decided to take the risk and enter the building openly, trying to show he was willing to work out a deal. If he heard a single gunshot, he would make a run for the nearest form of shelter.

     No one took a shot at him. No one was alive to do it. Kozmotis froze in the doorway, framed by the light of a waxing moon. The light gleaming over his shoulder turned the pooling blood on the ground black like oil. Five men lay dead, a couple crumpled, and the rest laid out.

     Kozmotis inched closer, a hand over his mouth. Someone had not only killed them, but stuck around for a while. One of the crumpled men barely had his head attached to his body. One of the bodies laid out a few feet away had bits missing, like his nose and a few fingers. Kozmotis didn’t see said bits anywhere. The last one was partially skinned. What had Sandman sent him into? Was this how they were going to kill him? Send him to do a job, and invite a psycho to the same little meeting? Speaking of which, where was the—

     Kozmotis slid his gun out from under his trench coat, and spun to point it at the person he heard coming up behind him. A man—no, a boy?—stared back at him, blue eyes wide and pupils contracted even though they were standing in relative darkness. His gun wavered for only a moment before Kozmotis readjusted his aim to the young man’s chest. More target area.

     The boy laughed, and took a step forward. In that moment, Kozmotis noticed something in his hands. Was that… a sickle? Blood was splashed all the way up to the boy’s elbows and across his front—it had looked like deep shadows in the poor light. The sickle was coated in it.

     “You.”

     “Me,” he agreed. “I’m glad you figured out I was behind you. If you hadn’t, then I likely would have killed you.” It was unsettling to hear the boy speak so openly. “I won’t, though. Not now. you’re interesting—smart even. After all, most people would drop their guard, but you didn’t. We can have some fun, you and I.”

     “I don’t think we have the same definitions of fun.”

      “We probably don’t. They were going to kill you, you know.”

     Kozmotis spared only the most fleeting of glances at the bodies. “Okay, you saved me. But you were planning on killing me. So are you on my side or not?”

     “No, no. You’re thinking the wrong way. The world doesn’t revolve around you, officer. You just happened to benefit from my fun, and I was only going to kill you if you proved boring. But you aren’t.” The boy smiled.

     “I—I’m not an officer. I’m one of Sandy’s men.”

     “Sure you are~ And I’m the Man in the Moon! Though between you and me, I never could see a man in the moon. I can see the rabbit, though.”

     “I am one of his men,” Kozmotis reassured. “I work for the Sandman. I was here to do a job.”

     “We’re all doing jobs. Even when we’re dead, we have a job. Sometimes I get so tired of it all—all that work. Don’t you?”

     “You’re trying to distract me,” Kozmotis accused.

     “I’m trying to distract myself,” the boy countered. “You do a very good job, by the way. Hid your files, covered your tracks, new ID, new history, new friends and past employers. Took me a lot of poking my nose where it doesn’t belong to figure out who you really are. Kept me entertained for quite a while. The DEA went all out. Did they get help from the FBI? The CIA? Doesn’t matter: I’m better than all of them combined anyways.”

     “And who are you, exactly?”

     “Glad you asked. Most people don’t ask. It’s really rude, you know?” The boy laid a hand on his chest. “I’m Jack Frost.”

     It couldn’t be seen by the dim light, but Kozmotis blanched. Jack Frost was one of the most notorious serial killers of all time. There were rough descriptions and sketches of him, but nothing accurate. His crime scenes were always absolute carnage—the work of a bored, intelligent mind with no moral compass and lots of free time. Jack Frost was a child with the mind of a madman. Kozmotis could have never guessed how accurate that description would be.

     “So… Jack Frost. What now? You’re a suspect in almost a hundred different homicide cases, and there’s a warrant out for you. I should shoot you where you stand.”

     “You should,” Jack said with a nod. “But you won’t. Want to know why?” He didn’t wait for Kozmotis to respond. “Because I want to see if you can win. You’re in this deep, and if you aren’t careful, you’re going to drown. Sink or swim, officer. What an exciting game.” The sickle twirled in Jack’s hand as he thought about it. “The Man in the Moon is smart. Smart as you—maybe smarter. Not as smart as me, though. No one is as smart as me.”

     “So why don’t you kill him and prove it?”

     Jack laughed. “Where’s the fun in that? No no no, it’s better to see if you can. Emma here,” another twirl of the blade, “isn’t right for the job. She’s lovely, but she’s just too small for big boy games like this. I want you to be my weapon. And you want me on your side. Pitch Black can’t do this all on his lonesome.”

     “You’re as likely to stab me in the back as help me. Literally. Why should I trust you?”

     “You shouldn’t. But! You’ve got no choice. Bunnymund is already suspicious, and while North doesn’t take him seriously, the lovely Miss Toothiana doesn’t dismiss possible threats lightly. She’s ruthless—I love that about her. If I didn’t want to pull her teeth out of her head, I’d date her,” Jack said with a roguish smile.

     He should walk away. He should shoot Jack, and walk away now. This undercover job was dangerous; he didn’t even really think he’d survive it, to be honest. Letting Jack help him could be the last nail in his coffin. “So, what sort of help are you offering?”

     Jack looked delighted. “So you’ll play, then. I’ll help however I feel like. If you get a blocked caller, wait until it’s rung twice before picking up. If you don’t wait, I’ll assume it’s not you. And I’ll blow the apartment up.”

     “What?!”

     “I rigged your apartment,” Jack said with a smile. “Child’s play, really. It’s also a little insurance. No one is to know about me while I’m helping you. Not the DEA, and not the local police. You play by the rules, or I take you out of the game.” Jack spun on his heel, and rested the sickle on his shoulder. “I’m bored now. See you around, Pitch!”

     Kozmotis waited one long minute, barely moving, before he finally lowered his gun. He tried to slide it into its holster, but his hand was shaky, and he had to use both hands to get it strapped in. What was he going to do about the bodies? It would be in the news the next day: Jack Frost Terrorizes the City of Gold Once Again. Sandman would find out. The police would get involved.

     He noticed a crate off to the side. Some blood had gotten on it, but Kozmotis still recognized the cryptic letter and number sequence across the front that marked it as some of Sandman’s property: the Dream Dust.

     “Get in, get the Dust, and get out.” Those were his orders.

     Kozmotis was called in to Sandman’s office the next day. It was all tasteful and whimsical; Sandman liked to indulge. His offices were a fusion of island and Asian themes, with rich, patterned silks, warm lighting, and one wall entirely dominated by an oil painting of a Hawaiian sunset—one he distinctly recognized from a newspaper article several months old now about a missing masterpiece.

     Sandy sat at a low table, relaxed back in his chair. One of his assistants stood nearby. He gestured, and they bent down to offer up an ear, which he spoke into.

     “I see you’re in one piece,” the attendant said quietly, and bent down again at Sandy’s direction. “You left a mess, you know.”

     Kozmotis recognized Sandy’s gesture to a seat with a nod, but remained standing. “They wouldn’t be reasoned with. I was told to close the deal, and I did.”

     The assistant listened to Sandy before responding. “Was the fire really necessary? It attracted more attention.”

     “It did. But it destroyed most of the evidence. I prefer to give the cops an obvious dead end, rather than risk them finding anything useful. I’m thorough.”

     Sandy nodded, smiling a little. He gestured for the assistant again. “You got my crate bloody.”

     “I’ll try harder next time.”

     “See that you do. I like you, Pitch. I want to keep you around. Bunnymund says not to trust you, you know. I don’t trust you, of course. No good businessman should trust the loyalty of people who stick around for cash.”

      “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t trust any of you either.”

      Amusement was clear on Sandy’s face now. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you did. The refund for the Dust will go into your personal funds. Think of it as incentive. Keep up the good work, Pitch.” The assistant stepped around the table, and opened the office door.

     “Oh, I promise to do my best. See you around, Sandman,” Pitch said before letting himself be escorted out of the building.

     In the elevator, Pitch’s phone started to ring. The assistant glanced at him. He dug it out, and quickly read the caller ID. Blocked number.

     “I need to take this,” he said quickly, opening it as the phone rang a second time. The assistant turned their direction back to the doors. “Hello?”

     “Yes, hello. People don’t answer the phone and say goodbye. Don’t sound so unsure of yourself.” Jack’s circular talk was already grating on the other man’s nerves. “Go to your apartment. Now. I’ll call again once you’re there. I have information for you.”

     Jack hung up without another word.

     “Who was that?” the assistant asked. Their voice was soft and curious, but Pitch knew anything he said would go straight to Sandy.

     “Just dry cleaning. I got blood all over my favorite coat the other night.”

     “How unfortunate. This is your floor, Mr. Black. We will contact you when we have another job.”

     “I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> (KS drew some [fanart](http://ksclaw.tumblr.com/post/43117931511/silly-art-post) in response)


End file.
